


Cinnamon and Cigarettes

by anotherdamnromantic



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018), Sabrina the Teenage Witch (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Hell, Light Angst, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Romance, Smut, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Wicca, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2019-09-21 16:09:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17046749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherdamnromantic/pseuds/anotherdamnromantic
Summary: "She remembers what it was like. Apple cider kissed off her lips, a cake haphazardly redecorated to celebrate her birthday, the wet stains on her friends shirts as she sobbed to them in the bathroom. She remembers the stars in her eyes, the warmth in her chest. The contentedness that lingered long after the lights were out and the dreams had ended."Sabrina Spellman was a half-breed. Now, she is a witch. And still, she wonders, the consequences of her choices.Or, Sabrina is a servant to the Dark Lord, Nick is a supportive BF, and Harvey struggles with his romantic feelings.Eventual polyamory with m/m. Also m/m in general. Also smut. Also gore and violence and scheming plots. Also some dub-con in like 1 chapter. You have been warned.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> For Cate, who's like a 9 in my book atm. I can't believe I'm spending my life on this. U better be grateful lmao :,)

My name is Sabrina Spellman. I am half witch, half human. And I won’t be intimidated. My name is Sabrina Spellman. I am half witch, half human. And I won’t be intimidated. My name is Sabrina Spellman. I am half witch, half human. And I won’t–

“What are you thinking?” Her head snaps up, silvery hair flipping out of place and causing the corner of Nick’s mouth to quirk up. Currently, they were perched on the stairs leading to the theater. It was a nice place, about six times the size of the other classrooms, and a little odd with seating. If you were unlucky, you’d be stuck on the far end of the front row. From that corner no one could see whatever play was onstage, and the only view was of the witches anxiously wringing their hands or blatantly watching the scene in the wings.

“Not much,” Sabrina says, not quite a truth. If she were truthful, she would tell him she was desperate for the break to start sooner than four weeks. That she was desperate for Salem, and her aunt’s familiar smells of Chanel and chocolate. She wanted her cotton sheets and iron bedpost. Mostly, she wanted her friends.

Witching school was not treating her well. The weird sisters would link up with her pinkies and they would stroll the halls like the best of buds. Prudence wasn’t as much of a pain as she had been before. But Agatha still cringed when Sabrina tapped her shoulder. The mutterings of half-breed trailed where she walked. The lecture hall for demonology left her surrounded by empty desks, the class huddled together in the far corner to laugh and mock her mortal clothes.

Sometimes she would wake up with ‘human’ carved into her skin. It was getting harder to hide the scars from people.

“You’re lying,” Nick accused, half smile gone. Sabrina silently cursed him. He was too intuitive to not notice a white truth. “C’mon, Bree. What do I keep saying?”

She sighs. “I’m not feeling too good.”

“Why? Because we’re skipping your favorite class?” She smirks and whacks him on the arm. A short laugh escapes his mouth, and she remembers how the High Priest had enrolled her in the drama class as punishment for protecting the mortals from the butcher all those months ago.

“No, I’m just…” Sabrina vaguely gestured to the air around her. “Bored. Lonely. I don’t know.” She did know. But he didn’t have to know that.

Nick nods sagely. “I get it. Halloween’s coming up, and last fall was–”

“Crazy?” Sabrina suggested. “Wild? Exciting?” He chuckles and grins up at her.

“Yes, all of the above,” Nick says. “And more. I mean, we fought the butcher and the original 13. You refused to sign the book of our lord for a couple months. We brought a dead person back to life–”

“Alright, enough,” She groused, standing and brushing off her dress. She didn’t want to think of necromancy. “I’m gonna go wait until the period ends, maybe Miss Halligher will finally decide to drop me from the casting list.”

“Oh no,” Nick said. “You can’t leave me here! What if Amelia comes out? She’ll hex me to the moon and back for skipping my scenes.”

“Simple solution, really,” Sabrina deadpanned. “Don’t skip drama and lurk right in front of the entrance. We could go to the gardens, instead. Doesn’t that sound nice?” He groaned and stretched to cover an entire step.

“It’s so much work, though,” Nick allows tears to spring to his eyes, and not for the first time Sabrina is reminded he was a handsome sight when sad. “Can’t we just stay here? Until the bell chimes?”

She takes in his glistening eyes and quivering lip, and snorts. “Give up the crocodile tears, Nick. If you’re so desperate for attention, you’ll move your sorry ass out of the staircase.”

He sniffs indignantly, and with much incoherent muttering, stands from the stone steps. “I hate you,” Nick says, without feeling, and links his pinkie with hers. She gives him a small smile, and he grins in return. There’s a quiet contentedness settled on their tongues as they knowingly wander through the hexagonal halls of their school. The echoing patter of their feet bounce off the walls and back into their ears. The classes aren’t disturbed by their adventure, and they aren’t disturbed by the lectures.

They enter the foyer, and spend a moment looking at the dark lord as he watched the door, unseeing. The blood from last year was still sticky and running, dripping down its face from the stone eyes and mouth. It sent shivers down her skin; a grim reminder that he was watching, planning, ready to come in and snatch her will from her.

Nick’s fingers tighten around her hand, and Sabrina glances up at his fiery eyes and pursed lips. If he were human, he would usher her from the room and crack a joke to ease the tension. If he weren’t a witch, he would have concern in those brown eyes instead of stubbornness and pride. But he was a witch.

She was a witch, too. It was a surprise every time she recalled it, that she had sold off her human half and the magic side had expanded to fill the void. It was a heady feeling, the power crackling under her skin and dancing on her fingernails. The rhyming and ancient tongue flicking hexes and curses as second nature. It was delightful. Euphoric, even. But she didn’t just feel the raw power.

There was an ache somewhere in the back of her mind that what she’d had before was gone. It took much too long for her to notice–perhaps the distracting energy pulsing through her blood was the center of her focus at the beginning of her witchhood. But it was certain, now. The feeling innate with humans but scarce in her brethren; the feeling of pure, unfiltered love.

She remembers what it was like. Apple cider kissed off her lips, a cake haphazardly redecorated to celebrate her birthday, the wet stains on her friends shirts as she sobbed to them in the bathroom. She remembers the stars in her eyes, the warmth in her chest. The contentedness that lingered long after the lights were out and the dreams had ended.

Witches weren’t built for such things. Their souls were fundamentally different to mortals, with stronger foundations and weaker bonds. Tears felt alien on their faces, and sadness never went farther than skin deep. Mourning was simply the acknowledgement of an absent personality in their life, and marriage was less a sacred bond and more a pact to produce the next generation of witches. And love?

Love was envied. It was the one thing worth mortality, a finicky emotion that clouded the judgement and left a desire for more. Passion was well known with witches. Raw, hungry sex was commonly found in the wild nature of the species. It seemed all their emotions were wild torrents of rain that leveled cities in one moment and gave way to clear skies the next. Which is why, when a witch develops something similarly fashioned after love, it’s all consuming.

It was the sort of animalistic love that caused people to throw themselves off cliffs, murder in cold blood, betray and defend and betray again. Sabrina knew Nick felt something like that, towards her. Some primal instinct to claim people as yours, keep them by your side. It wasn’t love, but it wasn’t not love. 

Sabrina supposed she felt something similar for him. Every waking hour was spent around him, a hand or foot in constant contact with his skin. The possessive nature she felt when people came to talk with him during the lunch break. It was itchy, and flighty. The exact opposite of the quiet contentedness she had felt with Harvey, but equal in the intensity of emotion. 

So Nick didn’t whisper creature comforts meant for other creatures, nor did he tuck her into his arms to keep the sight from imprinting into her mind. He did wait, while she took in the aging statue, patiently. It was always like this. 

Today she noticed the little girl, to the devils right. Her face was upturned, blank eyes gazing into the face of the dark lord. She had a solemn look resting on her brow, and Sabrina frowned to match the statues expression. Why wasn’t she as excited as the male counterpart to her right? Why did she look at the lord resigned, with saddened features etched into her stony skin?

Sabrina walked on, lightly pulling at Nick’s hand. There was no need for questions like that, not in a world where she is a witch and free will was signed away.

A chill brushed the back of her neck, the tail-end of a breeze that lightly tickled her skin before dying. She meanders to the left, jolting Nick out of his set path. “I thought we were going to the gardens?”

“We are,” She frowns, pointing down the hallway she was pulling him towards. “It’s this way, isn’t it?”

His brow pinches. “It isn’t, it’s this way.” He points to the doorway before them, heavy with locks and smooth with age. Sabrina gives him a look. “What? I specifically remember this door.”

“Yeah, because it’s the Spanish classroom,” She says, with feeling.

“Why do we have a Spanish class?” Nick frowns as he follows her down the hall. “Everyone knows witches don’t live in Spain.”

“Mexico,” Sabrina replies, pulling the iron handles toward her and letting in a blinding stream of light. When their eyes adjust, they take in the gardens.

Unlike regular schools, which may have a decently sized section of the outdoors dedicated to learning how things grow, this garden was giant. A path wound through patches of singing flowers and turned sharply just around a bush with eyes peering out from it. Birds didn’t sing, bees didn’t hum, and the chimes sat still when the wind blew by.

Pots of mugwort and jars of dragon teeth sat still in the pristine shed tucked against the wall. It was thin and tall, lined with wooden shelves and dim lights. Sprinkled among the gardening supplies were weapons ranging from sharp scissors to a machete from the 18th century. The garden was dangerous, if you weren’t prepared.

But it was day, and the pair of witches weren’t planning on going too far deep into the sprawling yard. “Mexico,” Nick repeats, picking his way carefully along the path as to not disturb the roots–the plants hated to be tread on. “I didn’t think of that.”

“Most people think of Mexico before they think of Spain, Nick,” Sabrina replies, toes to his heels as she follows his steps. “Well, in America, at least.”

“I suppose so.” Nick bends down to view one of the flowers. It’s a bud, with the petals slowly peeling out to reveal the distorted face of what will one day look to be a baby. The elder flower (fittingly, its body was of an elderflower) beside it swatted away his fingers, and began tittering in a language neither could recognize. “What I don’t understand,” Nick continues, dusting off his hands and moving along the path again, “Is why we have Spanish, but the school doesn’t offer flower.”

“Maybe because we murder them for our spells?” Sabrina says, amused. He turns to glare at her.

“Shush! They don’t have to know that.” He eyes the plants suspiciously, but besides the shrill sounds of distress coming from the panicked plant, the flowers remained oblivious.

“I’m just saying,” She pushes ahead, rounding the corner and searching the underbrush for a secretive gap. “Being able to talk with the things that you kill for spells and potions would be a pretty big deterrent to using them. Oh, it’s here.” She toes the top of the bush that curves into an otherworldly tunnel, leading to a patch of tomatoes but with a dark shadow lurking deep under the leaves.

Sabrina hikes up her skirt and gets down on her knees, palms sinking into the soft dirt. She half crawls, half scoots into the natural tunnel. The rustling of prickly leaves behind her is sign that Nick is following close to her feet, breath tickling her thighs and fingers grazing her shoes. The land dips down, before steeply inclining and the earth getting stickier and slippery.

She bursts out of the end, into a clearing with fluffy clouds and cool morning grass. A willow stands, weeping in the wind as the sun begins to rise somewhere behind it. Nick stumbles out behind her, taking in a breath and letting it out with a stream of foggy air. Sabrina shivers, missing the warmth from the school already.

He grabs her hand and walks to the trunk of the willow, feeling the bark against their backs as they slide down roughly, forming a run through her stocking. Her legs are tucked under her bum, keeping the slick grass from staining her skirt as the pigment rubs against her knees. Nick sits in dark pants, no care for his clothes as he rolls onto his stomach and rests his hands and head on her lap.

It’s of a strangely intimate nature, their position. If any mortal came upon them, they would assume the pair were lovers in comfortable silence. Even the fairies, who roamed natively in the area (for they were the ones who made the clearing in the first place), would titter and gossip about the witches of the woods, who held the other close in secret. They would weave tales of scorned lovers, forbidden romance, and warring families.

Sabrina knew, even though she was a full witch, that she smelled like a human. Nick would tell her often, in half-sleep, the scents that drifted off. “Spice,” He said that day, inhaling against her thigh. “And fur. Fire?”

She laughed, and settled her hand in his soft hair. A bird trilled in the trees above, and leaves rustled with hidden life. Sabrina couldn’t smell the fragrances that differentiated between witches and mortals. But if she pressed her nose against Nick’s throat, below the waft of his cologne, she could smell an icy forest in his blood.

“The book?” She asked, amusement fading. He heaved a stifled sigh and held up the worn novel from seemingly nowhere. The cover was a waning green, golden letters glinting dimly in the morning light. 

“You sure you want to see this, Bree?” Nick said, looking up with furrowed brow and stoic lips. 

“It’s–”

“Your father’s journal, yeah,” Nick adjusted his position and looked out into the branches above her head. “I’m the one who got it, I know what it is. But the stuff in there…” He purses his lips. 

Sabrina snaps the book open, a paper slipping from the pages. The edge was ripped, a roman numeral in the corner that was glossy despite its age. Incoherent notes lined the margins of the text. “The hell?”

Nick grimaces. “It’s a story, I remember reading it. It’s pretty… unnerving.”

She took a moment to check his eyes to find the inflection she had found in his tone; the truth in his eyes was unnerving. Her voice rang clear and quiet through the clearing.

“The devil had been seized with a desire to marry. He left hell, and took the form of a handsome young man, and built himself a handsome house. Nearby, less than a league away, stood the humble farm of a man and his wife. The couple had three beautiful daughters: Colette, the oldest and coldest, Hildegard, the kind and fair, and Zabra, the youngest and most fierce.”

Sabrina swallowed over the lump in her throat, and continued on.

“The devil brought many gifts and charmed the little family, and when he left there was a ring on Colette’s finger and by the end of the week there was a wedding had and the couple entered the grand mansion.

“He presented his bride the entirety of the house, ending on a closed door. ‘You have full reign of the house,’ The devil said. ‘But I ask only one request. Not under any circumstance are you to open this door.’ She swore, and lied, and he pinned a delicate flower to her bosom.”

The birds had silenced in baited breath. The witch’s voice was smooth and sweet as honey, but her tongue was working of her own accord and her eyes refused to blink.

“Under the pretext of hunting, the devil left to wait. Colette attempted to refrain from the door, by cleaning and sleeping and reading. But the books had all been read, and the floors were clean (as the house was new and magicked). And the bed, so luxurious, would not let her sleep. And so she stood before the door, and told herself that a peek wouldn’t hurt.”

Her eyes began to water. Nick, facing away with his lashes pulled taught against his face did not see the panic building.

“She turned the handle and the door flew open, revealing to her the fires of hell. It singed her bouquet, and she quickly shut the entrance. When her husband returned home, he noticed the singed flower. The devil then asked if she had kept her promise. She answered, unhesitantly, that she had. He told her he would sate her curiosity and show her what was behind the door. When it was opened, he threw her in, and declared to the town she had run off with his half his money.

“It was within the month that he married Hildegard, who was sweet tempered and took much longer to succumb to curiosity. But she succumbed to the same fate as her sister, and it was soon he married the final sister Zabra.”

Sabrina began crying in earnest now, panic settling in her blood. The page blurred badly. Her tongue kept moving.

“The youngest was most suspicious of the devil, believing something amiss in her sisters disappearance, for the three were thick as thieves and would share everything. And so, when the devil told her the same trick, she settled her bouquet on a side table and opened the door. She saw the hellfire, and her sisters reached for her. She took the belt from her waist and the elder sisters held tight to the leather, and Zabra pulled them to safety. They told her of their husband’s true nature, and she quickly hid them in the house. She pinned the flowers again to her breast and waited for her husband to return.

“When he did, he noticed the flowers still fresh on her bosom and felt love for her.”

“Sabrina! Shit.”

“Months later, on the anniversary of their marriage, she requested of her husband to carry three boxes to the farm of her parents, and made him swear to never pause for rest or look into the boxes until all three were delivered. For she would know if he opened them, or took a moment to pause, and would scold him.

“He carried the first box without complaint, and returned to carry the second. His feet began to ache and so he said, ‘I am far enough away, she will not see me if I sit for a moment.’ As he began to set down the box, he heard his wife’s voice: ‘Do not rest! I still see you!’ Awed, he continued on, and carried the third box.”

Nick had noticed, and she felt her fingers resist the weight of his grip as the book was tugged.

“This time there was curiosity, wondering what was inside. He was close to the home of his parents in law, and began to pry the lid of the box. ‘Do not open the box!’ His wife’s voice echoed. ‘I see you!’ And he quickly continued on the journey and returned home.

“The devil searched the house for his wife, hungry and tired, and could not find her. He screamed and raged, and ran to the farm to find her. There, the three sisters sat together and the devil overheard their story. They had used the boxes to escape from the manor, and when the devil had attempted to rest or open the box, the sister inside would yell at him, and he was fooled.”

A tingle was sent down her spine and Sabrina realized she hadn’t been able to feel the pages under her hands.

“In shame, he vanished back to hell. Colette and Hildegard, weakened from the ordeal, died and joined the devil in the pits. Zabra’s belly swelled, and rather than birth the spawn of the devil, fell upon her sword and entered hell as queen. She soon turned against Satan, and freed her sisters and herself to escape and begin new lives on the earth.

“The devil has since lost his appetite for marriage.” The book was ripped from Sabrina’s grip and thrown across the clearing. Her palms were clammy as she shook, a sound broken and rough escaping her throat.

Nick pulled her close, holding her as he too quivered. His fine shirt was quickly soaking in her tears. “What the fuck,” She strangled out, and Nick’s fingers dug harder into her back.

They stayed like that, for a time. Her incoherent muttering broken into segments by the choking sound of renewed tears. Nick didn’t brush them away, nor did he shush her sounds or utter trivial sayings. But he stayed, and that was enough.

When Sabrina was steady enough to stand, the sun had melted the dew and her dress was striped with grassy stains. He tucked her under his arm, and carefully led her back to the school’s garden. “The book,” She rasped, and her throat begged for water.

“It’ll be there later.” It wouldn’t, and if he was found out he would be punished, but he was already guiding her under the bushes and back through the tunnel.

When she broke through the underbrush and felt the warmth of a real, and not fairy generated, sun, Sabrina let a sob slip. Nick again, always there and ready, tucked her to his side and stood there with her. The light warmed her skin and brought color to her cheeks.

Tears were still leaking from her eyes and clumping on her lashes, but the adrenaline had run out and there was only a sleepy yawn to leave her mouth.

When they reached the door that led to her dormitory, Nick brushed a kiss against her forehead and was gone. Sleep came easy, and she wondered momentarily if perhaps witches could love the same way humans could.


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry.  
> Not only did I make y'all wait several months as I regurgitated this thing out of my mouth and onto the screen, but it's not even good.  
> It's ungodly, is what it is, a disgusting mess of garish writing. The thing is I literally can't write this goddamn chapter anymore. It is the bane of my existence, and there is nothing you can do to stop me from posting this cheap, disgusting piece of writing.  
> Next chapter will come in the next few weeks, and be twice as long, but for now you get this to sate your hungry temper.
> 
> ALSO V IMPORTANT: this has some minor sexual content.
> 
> ALSO ALSO V IMPORTANT: for cate. hopefully she isn't mad at me for finger-painting this mess.

Her head is cloudy.

 

The bottle of stolen wine rolled across the dorm floor, clinking against her heel and trapping itself with some clutter under a bed. The alcohol was sloshing contentedly in her stomach and her blood was on fire. She was tired, and wide awake, and by the Devil she felt powerful.

 

“Nick,” She gasped, and gripped the lapels of his coat. They were still dressed in period clothes–him in breeches and her in countless skirts. Sabrina pushes him to the bed, following soon after. Their lips meet again; stronger, hungrier. He lets out a low sound and it makes her kiss him harder.

 

They break off with a loud smack, and Sabrina moves to nip at his ear. His hands thread through her locks, and he breathes, “Cigarettes.” The witch pauses.

 

“What?”

 

“You taste like cigarettes,” He said, and Sabrina choked out a laugh. “What?”

 

She shakes her head. “You’re ridiculous.” Her mouth finds Nick’s pulse beneath the skin of his neck, and bites. A hiss leaves the boy’s mouth as she soothes the wound with her tongue and presses a kiss to his jugular. Sabrina’s eyes flick upward, hooded with her lashes.

 

Nick hums contentedly and brushes her hair from her face. “I cannot think the Devil may own a woman’s soul,” He mutters, and Sabrina gives him a smile, “When she keeps an upright way, as I have. I am a good woman, I know–”

 

“I know it,” Sabrina continues, pulling herself up to press a kiss to his temple. “And if you believe I may do only good work in the world, and yet be secretly bound to Satan, then I must tell you, sir, I do not believe it. If you think I am one…” He tilts her chin up, and her lips part.

 

“Then I say there are none,” He ends, voice a whisper. Their lids flutter closed and they inch closer, mouths brushing. A soft sound escapes from one of them, a pair of hands clasping. It’s different than before, their embrace quiet and relaxed. There’s a moment of hesitation, and Nick’s fingers brush her collarbone.

 

His hand trails down her side, slipping under the hem of her dress to rest on her ribs. A gasp escapes Sabrina, and her spine arches, pressing them closer. Her teeth gently close over his lip, and a stifled moan is released in time with the flick of Nick’s finger over her nipple.

 

Their eyes meet and Sabrina feels panic clog her throat. She wants to scream, gasp, whisper, moan, and most importantly, kiss Nick until they’re both breathless. She’s never felt this way before, not since–

 

The door bangs open and the sound of their fellow classmates entering the room followed soon after. Sabrina took a moment to assess her position with Nick–knees trapping his thighs, lips swollen and eyes foggy and a hickey forming on his neck.

 

Sabrina pulled away from the witch, smoothing her hair and skirts. Prudence is the first to come through, bonnet askew and a bottle dangling from her fingers. She purses her lips and scans the scene, a look without judgement in her eyes. Heat rises to her face, and Sabrina slides off the bed. “You’re here early,” She says, tongue numb and stuttering.

 

“Well, no,” Prudence said, smooth as ever, entering into the room further. “You two just took off without bothering to take a bow.” Sabrina rolled her eyes, and stood. “It’s a good thing you’re here though, we were gonna play party games.”

 

“Sounds fun,” Nick said, shirt already fixed and covering the new mark. He sat up on his elbows, looking up to the weird sister. “What’re we starting with?”   
  


Amanda, a willowy girl with big eyes and a mean scowl, spoke up: “Seven minutes in hell, of course.” The others, four in total, quickly took spots around the room. Prudence sprawled on a pile of cushions, Gerald is perched flightily on the bed behind her. Nick moved to the floor as well, leaning on the footboard of Sabrina’s bed. She moved to sit above him, her legs slung over his shoulders. His hand immediately went to rest on her ankle, thumb rolling over the joint.

 

“Seven minutes of hell?” Sabrina asked, falling back on her hands. “I’ve never heard of that one.”

 

Prudence gave her a glare. “Of course not, half-breed. It’s a witch game.” The other weird sisters gave a snicker, and Sabrina flushed.

 

“Could you go over it?” Nick said, gesturing toward Howard, who held the booze and was incredibly talented in magizoology. “I haven’t played in quite a while, and I think we could all appreciate a review.” Sabrina curled her toes around his jacket sleeve in thanks, and his responding squeeze tells her he knows.

 

Prudence’s eyes flicker between Sabrina and Nick, cheeks pinched in displeasure. “It’s simple. Someone spins the bottle,” She says, placing the empty beer bottle on the floor, “And whoever it lands on has to spend seven minutes in the closet with them.”

 

“Sounds easy enough,” Sabrina said, thinking back to the games she’d play with her human friends. Prudence gives her a sharp smile.

 

“Of course, the two must have an incredibly upsetting conversation. We can’t have anyone enjoying themselves,” Prudence bares her teeth, and Sabrina swallows. “Half-breed, I suggest you spin first. Since you haven’t played before.”

 

Sabrina gives a little kick at Nick, and he sighs, leaning forward and giving the bottle a nice twist. The room was silent as it wobbled in a circle, slowing down into wide ovals as it prepared to stop on, it seemed, Nick. Prudence reached out, nails scratching the glass, and pointed it to her fellow weird sister, Agatha. “Seems the two of you have something to talk about,” She says, smiling with a closed lip.

 

Her heart stuttered in her throat, different to the beat only minutes before. Agatha, eyes darting to Sabrina every few seconds, quickly stood and shakily stumbled to the broom closet in the corner. The blonde followed, her own steps uneven, breath loud in her ears. She feels Nick’s stare on her back as she follows the weird sister.

 

Agatha holds the door open for her, watching with fearful eyes, and Sabrina tries for a smile. She doesn’t return the sentiment. She glances back, meeting Nick’s eyes, and he gives her a slight nod. A moment's hesitation, and she steps through the doorway. Agatha takes a second, most likely to throw a glare at Prudence, before shuffling inside and shutting the door.

 

She avoids meeting her eye, lungs shallow as she waits for the minutes to be over. Sabrina studies the weird sister, with her perfect plaits and smooth skin and dark eyes. “So,” She says, voice cracking. Agatha flinches. “Uh, why do you think Missus Caria decided that the play this year would be The Crucible? I mean, isn’t it a little insensitive? Considering we’re witches, and the play is about, well, witch trials.”

 

Agatha met her eyes. “You killed me.” Sabrina steps back, hitting the wall.

 

“U–Uh,” Sabrina says. “Well, yes. But it was temporary!” Agatha looked so small, despite being almost a foot taller than the other witch. She had tears in her eyes, and her hands shook.

 

She swallows. “I remember how it felt. When you slit my throat. I had to dig my way out of my own grave.” Her voice is strong, but her spine shakes with fear.

 

Sabrina feels something prickle at her eyes and forces it down. “My aunts do it all the time. It’s perfectly safe.”

 

“Then you don’t mind if I cut you up right here?” Agatha spits, fury sparking in her eyes. The witch’s eyes widen, and she looks to the floor. Her hands begin to shake. The weird sister give a bitter laugh. “That’s what I thought.”

 

They’re silent for a moment, the air heavy, and then; “I’m sorry.”

 

Whatever Agatha had expected, that certainly wasn’t it. “Excuse me?”

 

“I’m sorry,” Sabrina says, stronger this time. She meets her gaze. “It was a dumb decision, I know. I was so angry with you and Dorcas, and I wanted the two of you to suffer,” Her voice cracks, “For what you did to me, to Harvey–”

 

She chokes off. Agatha waits in the brewing darkness. “But even though I brought you back. Even though I thought you deserve it, though I still think you deserved it, I was cruel. And killing you…”

 

“Your soul is stained,” Agatha said, eyes shining with light that didn’t exist. “Sabrina Spellman, I know who you are.”

 

Her breath stuttered out, and she felt powerless. If there was movement in her limbs, Sabrina would move away from the weird sister and ask to wait out the remaining minutes in uncomfortable silence. But her bones burned and she knew the Dark Lord wanted her to hear this.

 

Her chest seized as Agatha took a slow breath in, fingers twitching. Her mind flew. Did she have a destiny? Was there free will, was there choice?

 

The Dark Lord had plans. But it seemed He had too much control over the witch’s body. She sold her soul willingly, and Sabrina supposed there was no choice for her after her name was written in the book. And if the Dark Lord could control her destiny, then how was she able to avoid signing for over a month?

 

Unless, of course, He had planned it that way. Unless her choices were an illusion. She was destined, He had said, for great things. Terrible things. Every decision, every breath, every thought had been planned beforehand for her to follow. And her desires did not line up with the story set ahead by Satan himself, leaving her paralyzed as Agatha spoke her prophetic words.

 

The weird sisters had stuck around since the beginning of witchkind. The most notable were those written by Shakespeare, who met the three himself and heard their bickering words. Great, they would say, but unhappy. You’ll live forever, and die faceless. They will build monuments in your name, and never know if you existed.

 

Agatha’s words would be Sabrina’s future set in stone. She dreaded the words, and the finality that came with them. “You need not fear the Devil,” The sister said, and Sabrina wished she could give a chuckle. “Yet.

 

“When the sun goes dark, you will be baptized in blood. The church bells will ring, with empty halls and a couple wed unhappily. The king will fall–fall, and never tou–” She blinked, and the words stopped flowing. “Sabrina?”

 

She sucked in some air, sliding down the wall and biting down the tears clumping her lashes. “I–I’m fine. I’m okay.” They fill the space with heavy breaths.

 

“Don’t worry,” Agatha said, “You get used to it.” Sabrina inhaled sharply, jerking her head up.

 

“Time’s up, Agatha, half-breed,” The door was open, blinding the witches. Prudence set her hand on her hip, glaring at them with pursed lips. “Hurry up, will you?”

 

Sabrina scrambled up, brushing off the shirts. She opened her mouth to call out for Agatha, but the weird sister had slipped out quietly. She clenches her jaw and she stumbles out, blinking in the candlelight and sliding to the floor next to Nick. He sent her a suspicious look, but laughed at whatever Howard was saying.

 

“Who’s next, Prudence?” Gerald whispers, voice hoarse. The weird sister chuckles.

 

“I think we should play something else,” She said, pulling out a bottle of Siren Sweat. “How about a couple rounds of never have I ever?”

 

Nick gives a low whistle, leaning forward to study the label. “That’s some hard stuff, Prudence,” He says, “Where did you get it from?”

 

She smirks. “Being the daughter of the High Priest gets you many privileges. Amanda, you start.” The girl blinks her owlish eyes, and summons up the witching equivalent of shot glasses.

 

“We don’t want to run out too fast,” She explains, as Howard quickly uncaps the Sweat and pours it into the glasses. “Might as well make it easier.”

 

“Start, Amanda,” Prudence narrows her eyes. “We don’t have all night.”

 

The girl gives an annoyed huff, but doesn’t complain. “Never have I ever… killed someone.” Agatha leans back, resting her full glass against her leg. Prudence grins, and Nick shifts.

 

Dorcas is the first to move, breathing fast as she downs her shot. Agatha takes her own, stare boring into Sabrina. She takes a moment to ground herself, and swallows the Siren Sweat.

 

Her vision gets unbearably bright, an oversaturated canvas filled with whorls of color. She turns to Nick and lets out a breath in awe, his features feathered into strokes of paint. If she had any skill in art she would make him a masterpiece.

 

“Seeing anything, half-breed?” Prudence smirks, and Sabrina nods without thought. “Don’t worry, it’ll get more intense the more you have.”

 

“What do you see?” Nick murmurs, and Sabrina continues to study the dark shadows of his eyes.

 

“It’s like I’m in an oil painting,” She says, and trails her fingers against the paint that makes his face. With a frown, she adds, “You don’t feel wet.” He gives a laugh.

 

“No, I suppose I don’t,” Nick turns to the group. “Who’s next?”

  
  


The only sounds in the forest are Sabrina’s heavy breathing and the snaps of branches as her feet stumble through. Her nightgown kicks against her knees as she feels her way through the forest, blinded in the dark canopy of trees. 

 

The animals had long since fled the area, knowing what lay in the center of the untouched woods. Sabrina cusses at the edge of a river, watching the dark water slip past with the heavy moon wavering in the current. If she crossed, it would slow her down. But slower still the journey would be if she found a way around it. The trees rustle, and not with birds, and she steps into the water.

 

Her skirts pull downstream as her feet slide over the basin stones. She flinches when plant life tickles the arch of her foot, but bites as her tongue attempts to betray her. Now to her waist, she feels the riverbed slope upward and she begins to move quicker to the bank. Her bare foot betrays her and she slips into the current, falling into the river with nothing more than a soft gasp and the river disturbed.

 

She chokes down filthy water, the water pushing her angrily against rock and root. Sabrina emerges out of the river for a moment to swallow clean air before she is again pushed into the depths. Her fingers scramble for purchase against the mucky bottom, and she catches on an outcrop of rock. There’s a tense moment that doesn’t show above the surface as she crawls across the river floor, but it’s broken as she takes a heaving breath and tosses herself onto the bank.

 

A shadow falls over her face, but Sabrina has fought long enough and there’s nowhere else to go. Bile coughs its way out of her mouth, and her nightgown plastered to her thighs. As she’s slung over the stranger’s shoulder, head limp and hair sticking to her skin, she fades out of consciousness.

 

It feels as though she’s flipped open a book and read a chapter near the end, near the climax. And so, to right itself, her mind dreams of the prologue.

 

But for that, dear readers, you must wait.


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this finally came out, after a serious writers block that’s been going on since my last chapter. I watched an episode of my favorite show, and it made me feel things, and I wrote this in one sitting.
> 
> THIS CHAPTER HAS SMUT. I, a lesbian virgin, wrote some straight smut. I am so ashamed and also proud. This is my first time (hahah ew sex jokes) so let me know how I did. 
> 
> THIS CHAPTER HAS SEASON 2 SPOILERS. I was really inspired by one of the episodes in this one, so beware spoilers.
> 
> THIS CHAPTER HAS SLIGHT GORE. Not with the smut. After and before it. Anyways enjoy.
> 
> for cate

Sabrina has always hated Greendale High’s cafeteria. Her friends, the mortal ones, and her would never eat in the giant room, because of its musty scent of just expired food and the un-satanly amount of food and drink that ended up on the floor. Not to forget that the jocks would converge there to throw spoonfuls of mystery meat at their table and laugh with their smug grins.

 

So when she went searching for her friends (Suzie and Roz) and her ex-boyfriend (Harvey), the last place she expected to find them was in the cafeteria. But still, once she has scoured the library, the classrooms, and the bathrooms, she was resigned to sweep over the cafeteria before she gave up entirely. And much to Sabrina’s surprise, there they were. Sitting there in the middle of the cafeteria on a long table, unbothered and laughing.

 

It hurt something buried deep in her chest, something akin to roots from an old growth, seeing them there without her. Happy without her. Sabrina felt bitterness crawl up her throat as the past year of isolation and pain swallowed her up. How could they?

 

She wants to leave, badly. It’s hard enough to be pushed around by strangers with cruel hands and sharp tongues when Nick is by her side to hex them into oblivion. But now she’s the strange one, who is too “other” to be around mortals for so long. She’s ready to turn on her heel, wants to leave this place, but she can’t do this alone. She needs help. For the weird sisters, for Ambrose and Luke, for Nick. For them, and all the others, she would swallow her pride and ask for help from mortals.

 

As she pushed her way to the center of that room, Sabrina felt something shift under her skin. To imagine herself in this place after all this time, mortal and in love, was outlandish. Last year, still human and so full of hope, laughing in these halls. Kissing in these halls. Sabrina can’t imagine the feeling, not anymore.

 

Her former classmates turn to her and watch in silence. For a moment she feels small again, judged again, but her foot slips on the blood she’s leaking and Sabrina decides they’re simply concerned. It’s not often a classmate disappears of the face of the earth, only to return with a mortal wound slashed through their chest. 

 

She stumbles the last few steps, landing heavily on the table. Roz, Susie, and Harvey finally notice her, but recognition does not yet spark in their eyes. Instead they stare at her hand, spread open on the table, caked with blood. Harvey is the first to follow her arm up to her face, and whisper, “Sabrina?”

 

There’s so much she wants to say, but the pressure in her throat is building. And as blood spills over her lips, she manages to scream the words.

 

“Help me. Please–Please help me.”

  
  


(Six Hours Ago)

 

Sabrina is gasping for breath by the time she reaches her bed. It’s not because of anything she’s done, rather, it’s because of what she might do. Her hair is still drying from the rain, and when she checks, Nick’s shirt is soaking.

 

That is why she’s breathless. Because Nick is here, and they hadn’t been alone since her birthday. And on that day, before they had been interrupted–

 

Sabrina flushes at the memory, the way he so easily made her body react. After nearly a year of no more contact than friendly touches, the trail of his fingers against her skin left her with goose flesh and something wild burning in her blood. 

 

“You know,” He begins, shaking water from his hair. She smiles at the sight, remembering how quickly he had sprinted through the rain, leaving her in his muddy tracks when he rushed ahead. Instead of running after him, Sabrina had strolled along, a smirk on her face. When she reached the Spellman house, Nick had been standing under the porch awning, looking at her with a sour expression. I don’t have the key, he had said. I know, she had replied.

 

“You know,” He repeats, “There’s no one else in the house. Just us, in this big empty house.”

 

Sabrina smiles with her eyes. “You think you’re so smooth, Nicholas Scratch.”

 

“Oh yeah?” He purrs. “And what do you think?” His eyes flick to her lips. Her tongue flicks against her skin and something shifts behind his gaze. 

 

“I think you’re alright,” Sabrina breathes, chin lilting up toward him. She can see his pupils, round as the moon, disguising his iris as the black below.

 

“Just alright?” He asks. She opens her mouth to answer, and his mouth is on hers.

 

It feels like fire. Her mouth burns, like a muscle stretching for the first time in years, and her hands are gripping his damp shirt like it’s a lifeline. Even his shirt, despite the rain’s best efforts, is hot to the touch. She can only imagine how warm he is underneath.

 

Sabrina decides to find out. They break apart, and she almost whines at the loss of contact, and his shirt is lifted away to reveal gleaming skin. Without hesitation, she bends to his chest and bruises the skin with her tongue and teeth. Nick makes a sound, and she looks up with something wholly dark and animal in her eyes.

 

“Mine.”

 

It takes them both a moment to recover from it. As she feels herself burn not with passion, but with shame, Nick cracks that little smile he gives only to her. “I didn’t take you for the possessive type,” He drawled, and with renewed confidence, Sabrina pushes against the love mark until it turns white, enjoying the stuttering sound he lets out.

 

She throws her leg over his lap, settling there on the edge of her bed. Nick tilts his head back and she begins to make another bruise right over his jugular. His pulse is strong here at his neck, and she feels something powerful with her teeth over his lifeline. She nips the spot, and runs her tongue over the spot as his blood rushes faster. “Sabrina,” He moans, and she wants him to say it again. Sa- _ bri _ -na.

 

She pulls away and he whimpers–whimpers–as she pulls her pants off her body and throws them somewhere behind her. Soon they’re back to kissing, and as she shifts she feels the length of him against her. Smiling against his lips, she grinds down and Nick gasps in response. “So sensitive,” She mutters, trailing her fingers against his neck and watching the flesh pebble after her touch.

 

He whines, and she meets his eyes. So brown, they’re pools of black that she could drown in. There’s a light reflecting against the glassy iris and she’s enraptured, pausing for breath. “Use your words, Nick,” She says, voice raw.

 

“Please,” He manages. She smirks, and he whines again.

 

“Please what?” She begins to shift away, but his hand reaches out to grab her waist. His breathing is uneven and Sabrina enjoys every second of it.

 

“You know what,” He replies. She leans forward, and he sags with relief, mouth already open to receive her.

 

“Say it,” She whispers, lips brushing his skin. He shudders.

 

“Sabrina,” He says again, this time choking. “Sabrina, please.” Her hand reaches into his pants, stroking that place between his legs.

 

“Say it.” She hisses it this time, stronger and fiercer. He groans. “Say it.”

 

“Fuck me,” He gasps. “Fuck me, Sabrina.”

 

“You are mine,” She says, her hand pulsing with more force.

 

“I’m yours,” He breathes, “Please, please.”

 

Her hand pulls away, and he nearly screams in frustration. She grips the edge of his waistband, and Nick lifts his hips as she slides them from his legs. His boxers go with them, and his length is exposed to the air. Sabrina takes a moment to take him in, and he flushes. “Beautiful,” She says, kissing the inner side of his knee. “Mine,” She adds, and places a kiss higher on his leg. Her eyes flick up to him, and he is gasping for breath.

 

“Yours,” He hisses, and she bites him on the tender part of his thigh. All the air leaves his throat and he falls back on the bed. Sabrina hesitates for a moment. “What?” He begs, voice breaking.

 

“Do you have a condom?” He pulls himself to his elbows, eyebrows raised.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Who do you think has control here, Nick?”

 

“Fair enough,” He says. “In my pant pocket.”

 

She pulls the package out. “Do you keep these on you at all times?”

 

“The last time I was at your house, Spellman, I had an orgy with your cousin. Sorry for being prepared.”

 

They hover for a moment, before Sabrina finally flushes. “Nick?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I don’t have a fucking clue how to use this.”

 

“Don’t tell me you’re a virgin.” Her silence is telling. “Seriously? Not even with Harry?”

 

“Harvey,” She corrects mindlessly. “And maybe I was waiting for the right time.”

 

“And that time is now?”

 

Sabrina frowns. “Look, if you don’t want to–”

 

“No!” He yelps. “No, Sabrina, I would be honored.” She smiles at him, and he smiles back with that little smile she adores. 

 

Sabrina chucks the condom at him. “Put that on.” He makes a sound deep in his throat and obeys. Her eyes trace every movement of his fingers, from the tear in the packaging to the careful way he rolls it on.

 

The moment his hands pull back, she’s on top of him, kissing every inch of skin she can find. Her teeth catch his lips, and with shaded eyes, she looks into his face. Understanding, his hands gently guide her over him, and she slowly sinks onto him. She sucks in a breath, and he halts.

 

“Are you sure about this?”

 

“Yes,” She says, “Satan yes. Just–Just go slow.” He nods as she places her hands against his hips, and he uses his own to grip the blankets below him. It takes what feels like forever for her to finally take the entirety of himself in her, and she pauses to feel him inside of her. His lashes flutter against his cheeks, and she gives an experimental rock.

 

The sound that comes from Nick’s throat explodes against her ears, and his grip falters on the bed. Sabrina places one hand against his lower back for support, and the other folds itself into his hair. She pulls his head back, and tastes the sweat gathering on his neck.

 

She begins to rock against his body, his hips grinding against her in time. Her mouth finds his pulse and she can tell their hearts are racing at the same pace. He lets out such wonderful sounds, an incoherent jumble of pleases and Sabrinas. Her hand tightens against his hair and he groans in pleasure.

 

They begin to move faster, together. They no longer kiss, eyes locked as they breathed their prayers. Something snaps between them, some primal bond that only witches can feel or form. And it is then, with fire in her mouth and this precious thing between them, that they release together.

 

A minute later, and they lie in each other’s arms, a mess of tangled legs and soft kisses as they stare into the light. The condom was disposed of, but how Sabrina was unsure. She might have heard a banishment charm whispered, and grinned at the thought of hell being gifted with a condom. A used one, no less.

 

“What are you thinking?” Nick asks, voice less than a whisper. She can barely hear him over the silence of the house. 

 

“Nothing to concern yourself with, Nick Scratch.”

 

“Is that so, Spellman,” He pulls her close and presses his lips to her forehead. “I think there’s a lot happening in your head.”

 

“More than you, that’s for sure,” She giggles, and he breaks into that smirk of his.

 

“I’ve had a thought or two,” He replies, playing defensive.

 

“My point still stands,” She says, and he whacks her with a pillow. “Hey!” She laughs, and swats his arm.

 

Distantly, she hears a thump from the lower floor. “Shh, shh,” She hisses at him. He stills, still buzzing with energy. “Aunties!” She yells. “Are you home?” Silence. Nick reaches for her, but she pushes his hands away.

 

“They’re probably downstairs.”

 

“So?” He asks, looking up at her as she pulls away to pick up her pants.

 

“So,” She says, pulling her pants up and enjoying the hiss of fabric over her skin, “I refuse to be caught half-naked after the first time I had sex.”

 

“Was it any good?” He says, a joke, but with a true question underneath. Sabrina pauses, striding to him and pressing a kiss against his lips.

 

“It was wonderful,” She replies. “Now put some pants on. Preferably not mine.”

 

Sabrina made her way down the stairs, feet bare against the hardwood floors. “Aunties? Are you there?” Salem, who had conveniently disappeared in the last hour, came up to her and rubbed against her legs. She scratched his head absentmindedly, and roamed into the kitchen.

 

It was there she saw a man, pausing at the counter as if to listen. “Who are you?” She asks, hands braced before her. “And what the heaven are you doing in my house?”

 

“I’m Jerathmiel,” He says, his eyes soft and his demeanor kind. “I’m a missionary. Sorry to intrude, but your door was open, and I was just very concerned that someone had broken in.”

 

“Oh,” She says, relaxing. “Well, thank you, but we’re fine. I should probably lock that door.”

 

“It’s alright,” Jerathmiel said. “You can lock it when I leave. Could I have a glass of water? I walked quite a ways.”

 

Sabrina smiled. “Of course.” She moved to the sink and plucked a glass from the cupboard. “Isn’t it hard? Going door to door, trying to get people to listen to what you have to say?”

 

She thinks Jerathmiel smiles. “It’s difficult when they deny God and redemption. But I’m never deterred.”

 

“Don’t you feel doubts, though?” Sabrina asks. “That the path you’re walking is wrong? Evil?”

 

“Do you?” He responds, and though it shouldn’t, the question knocks the wind out of you.

 

“Sometimes,” She replies. “But it’s too late for me to change.”

 

“It’s never too late,” Jerathmiel tells her. “Not to repent to God.”

 

Sabrina gives him a bitter smile. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that all she could worship with her whole heart was freedom, true freedom, and that was something no god could give her.

 

“I hope you have better luck at your next stop,” She said honestly, taking his empty glass and beginning to wash it in the sink. She hears the missionary sigh behind her.

 

“I so wished I didn’t have to do this,” He muttered, and before she can ask what he means, there’s a thud and her head explodes with stars. Her chin hits the counter and her jaw cracks against it. Sabrina slumps to the ground, dazed and gasping, and looks up to Jerathmiel. “Pity,” He sighs. “If you had passed out, I would have taken you to the church with the others.”

 

“Others,” She repeats, barely comprehending what was happening.

 

“You should have repented, Sabrina,” He says. “Now, you will die. And you will not be in God’s good grace.”

 

“Fuck,” She whispers, clawing away. He steps on her hand and there’s a crunch, and Sabrina feels a scream rip from her throat that peters into a broken sob. She reaches for the counter and pulls herself up with her good hand, turning toward him and baring her teeth.

 

She thinks for a moment she might have a chance, but Jerathmiel pulls a blade from her knife block and thrusts it into her gut. Sabrina chokes, and falls onto the witch hunter. He rips the knife from her, letting blood spray across his cream sweater, and lets her crumple to the ground.

 

“Run,” She moans, head against the cool tile of the floor. “Run! Nick, run!”

 

“Another?” She’s kicked in the face, and her nose clicks out of place. “Where is he, witch? Where is this Nick?” She only laughs, gurgling on the blood in her throat. “No matter, I’ll find him myself.”

 

She hears his steps creaking away, and Sabrina sags. She is going to die here, at seventeen, with her blood caking her hair and the fate of Nick left in the air. She was going to die, alone, here on the floor. Upstairs, she hears a thud and a thunk, and then the sound of skin dragging across the floor. It seems he would survive longer than she would.

 

Sabrina lets her breath grow shallow, and she’s ready to go. No more games with the dark lord, no more breathy kisses with Nick, no more fights with Prudence. Just silence.

 

She feels a hand press against her cheek. “Sabrina.” She groans, blood spilling from her mouth. “Sabrina, darling.” With effort, she blinks, and crouching in her blood is her mother.

 

“Love, I’m here.”

 

“Mama,” She whispers. “Mama, it hurts.”

 

“Oh, Sabrina. I know,” Her mother replies. “But you need to fight.”

 

“I can’t,” Sabrina sobs. “I can’t.”

 

“You will,” She replies. “Or you will die.”

 

“Help me,” She says.

 

“I can’t.”

 

“Stay?”

 

“I can’t do that either. Sabrina, fight. There is so much more left to do.”

 

“When will it end?”

 

“When you decide it will.” Sabrina blinks, and her mother’s gone. She sucks in a breath, sends a prayer to a vicious god, and stands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nick is a bottom and you cannot change my mind


	4. An Update

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please read! There’s an explanation for my absence as well as a sneak peak at future works and the next chapter!!

Hello everyone!

 

Sorry if I excited you by adding a ‘chapter’, but I felt like I needed to warn y’all. Basically, this fic is not cancelled!! I am still writing it, I have some of the next chapter on my computer. I will admit, however, that I’m taking a break from the story.

 

Part of the reason why is because Game of Thrones just ended and I felt the need to write with the characters. In fact, I’ve never written so much and so often in my life, I have around six thousand words in two days (it took me like a week to write the first chapter of this fic, and a month and a half to write the other). I have three stories raging in my head, all demanding attention.

 

I’ve learned a lot of lessons with Cinnamon and Cigarettes, as it was my first time posting a fanfiction on the internet (although not my first time writing it! I think I still have one of my first attempts tucked away somewhere). I’m not going to be posting for several months, at least until I finish the GoT stories, which I will start posting AFTER they’re finished.

 

Once I’ve completed those stories, then I’ll continue working on Cinnamon and Cigarettes. I have the plot mapped (it’s probably going to take way more than 12 chapters at this rate) in my head and am excited to write it. I think I’ll start again in the fall, when the aesthetic of the story is in the air. 

 

If you’re interested in the stories I’m writing, I’ll leave you with the GoT stories I have in mind: (keep in mind these are working titles and descriptions)

 

Phosphenes

_ “She was wild, she was brash, she was in love. These things do not fade easily.” _

 

_ Arya Stark was silly enough to believe she could fall in love, could marry someone and still find freedom. Instead, her options are taken from her, and freedom is found in three things: a death, a girl with stormy eyes, and the path of the sun. _

 

_ A prince!Gendry AU where Arya sails west! _

 

_ A modern AU! _

 

don’t tell me the moon is shining (show me the glint of light on broken glass)

 

_ Jon Snow’s father dies, and all he has left is a shoebox filled with mementos, the deed to a cabin in the middle of nowhere, and the solitude of his grief. Then, he finds someone (something) in the woods. _

 

_ A modern AU with forest gods! _

 

I also feel bad in general for not giving anything, so here’s a sneak peak of the next chapter:

 

Sabrina wakes to the sound of steady beeping that pierces her skull like arrows. She groans, pain sparking from her gut and her head, meeting somewhere in her chest to make her heart ache. Her eyes are glued shut from tears and sleep, and when she peels her lids back all that she sees is angry white light that sends her into a panic, shutting her eyes at the pain.

 

“Sabrina, hey,” She hears, and it calms her thrumming heart. “It’s okay, you’re safe.”

 

She opens her eyes again, this time letting them adjust to the fluorescent lighting. And once they do, once the bright white fades into something softer and duller, Sabrina notices who’s spoken to her.

 

“Harvey,” She groans, voice crackling. Her fingers twitch at her sides as she tries to remember why she needed him.

 

“It’s okay, Sabrina,” He whispers, eyes wet and hand in her hair. “I’m here.”

 

She’s almost content to go back to sleep, to rest here with Harvey. Sabrina shifts, and a sharp pain pulls at her stomach. While she gasps, Harvey says, “You gave us a real scare, passing out with all that blood on you. We thought you were going to die.” Sabrina pulls up the hospital gown she’s dressed in, and Harvey averts his eyes and makes a noise of surprise. There, on her stomach, is a line of neat stitches. She trails over the wound, feeling the skin already swallowing the thread.

 

Rolling her head to the side and tugging the gown back down, Sabrina notices the pile of fabric next to her. Following her gaze, Harvey explains, “Those are your clothes. Although, you might not want to wear them, considering how much blood there was.” He pulls her shirt from the top of the pile, and shows her the damage. The lower edge is cut in a jagged line, and the whole front is crusty with blood.

 

Swallowing her nausea, Sabrina says, “Harvey, I need a favor.”

 

“Anything,” He replies, setting the shirt down. She looks into his eyes and finds him sincere. 

 

“Get me clothes. Clean ones, please.”

 

“Sabrina–”

 

“Are you gonna do it, or are you a liar?” He swallows whatever he was going to say, and leaves her.

 

Sabrina takes the next moment to look around the room, at the vase of flowers settled by the window. She decides she wants to smell them.

 

By the time Harvey returns, Sabrina is sitting on the edge of her bed with the vase between her hands, and a wound from pulling out the IV already healing on her arm.

 

“You shouldn’t be up,” He says, stopping halfway to her.

 

“Close the door,” She replies, and sets the flowers by her feet. He hesitates, but does as he’s told, then hands her the clothes. Sabrina looks them over: a pair of large sweatpants and an extra small t-shirt.

 

“That was kinda all they had at the shop downstairs,” He explains. “Unless you wanted the extra large pants instead?”

 

“This will do,” She says, and slips the pants on under her gown. They slide down to rest on her hips. “I followed Jerathmiel to the church we used for services. I think they blessed it though, changed it back into the false God’s land, because I couldn’t enter.” She shows him her hands, red with burns. “That’s why I needed you to help me.”

 

“Wait, wait,” He replies, confusion swirling in his eyes. “Who’s Jeremy? And what false God?”

 

“Jerathmiel,” She says, “The witch hunter that stabbed me and took Nick.”

 

“Nick? As in that asshole warlock from last year?” Harvey asks.

 

“Don’t be mean,” She chides. “His capture distracted that missionary until I had time to escape.”

 

“There’s a missionary now?” Harvey says.

 

“No, there’s Jerathmiel, who’s a missionary and a witch hunter.”

 

“And he took Nick?”

 

“He also stabbed me with a kitchen knife, but that’s less important at this point.”

 

“Wait–He stabbed you? Is that how you got the wound?”

 

“We need to get to that church. They probably noticed that we were gone from the Academy, or someone told them. And my aunties weren’t at home, so they’ve probably been caught as well.”

 

“Slow down, Sabrina, you just got stabbed, and–we should call the police, I mean, this is too far–“

 

“Harvey,” She says, and meets his eyes. “I need you to be strong. Can you do that? I need you.”

 

His mouth hangs open, only for a moment. And then he gives her a shallow nod, and Sabrina reaches out and squeezes his hand. “I–Sabrina,” He begins.

 

“Not now, Harvey,” Sabrina says. “We’ll have time to talk about everything after we save my family.”

  
  
  


Last thing, before you go: follow me on tumblr at  _ another-damn-romantic  _ for sneak peaks at future content! I usually reblog things to keep them all in the same place, but there’s going to be updates on the work I’m doing!! Anyways, bye for now!


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